


(don't) give in to the pain

by fandomlver, SailorSol



Series: Powers 'Verse [8]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: But I like to be safe, Gen, Set in Early Season Two, This is part one of three, the violence isn't really that graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-16 06:16:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5817301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomlver/pseuds/fandomlver, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorSol/pseuds/SailorSol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis and d'Artagnan are alone and surrounded by men who wish them harm. Trapped and unable to manage, d'Artagnan makes a desperate decision that may have long term consequences, not just for him but for the whole regiment...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wildforce71](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildforce71/gifts).



> For wildforce71's birthday, SailorSol and I wrote her a quick Powers fic. Nothing too big, just a nice piece of H/C.
> 
> ...yeah, right. Welcome to part one of three...

d’Artagnan is screaming again.

Aramis leans his forehead against the bars, eyes closed, and prays quietly. d’Artagnan had been silent for the first several days. Then he’d screamed for the next few. Now he’s so worn out and worn down that he’s usually only loud enough for Aramis to hear when they’ve done something particularly inventive.

It shouldn’t be much longer. The men divide their time more or less evenly between the cells, and Aramis is sure it’s almost changeover time. Not that he wishes any harm on any of their reluctant dungeon mates - it’s just as hard, in a different way, when someone else is being hurt - but he’s desperate to get his hands on d’Artagnan.

He can’t heal him too much. If their guards figure out what’s happening, they’re both dead. d’Artagnan made him agree, made him promise on the things that matter to him, and when he’s conscious enough he holds Aramis to it. Aramis can’t heal the visible injuries, or anything that changes the way he carries himself. But he can help with the pain, he can deal with internal injuries, and he can feel d’Artagnan breathe and know it’s over with for another day. Another length of time. He’s no idea how long the schedule they’re on actually is.

d’Artagnan curls into a ball as soon as the guards dump him in. Aramis waits impatiently through the generic threats and taunts, unmoving while the door’s open; he learned that lesson early on. As soon as the door closes he’s at d’Artagnan’s side, one hand on his arm, one wormed in against his throat.

d’Artagnan is trembling, jerking slightly. Aramis recognises the movements but waits to be sure, pushing gently and searching. He moves past the older injuries, used to them by now, and mostly ignores the shallow slices and bruises. Apart from keeping out infection, there’s little to do for them.

There. d’Artagnan’s stomach is spasming. They’ve given him something to make him badly ill. Aramis soothes it carefully, trying to keep the balance right. Stomachs are tricky.

d’Artagnan’s trembling eases. Aramis soothes out the burn in his throat as well, smothering all his pain as best he can. He’ll need to stay close to d’Artagnan for a while, but that’s all right. They’re neither of them too eager to separate during the times they have together these days.

Finally, he checks one last thing before sighing and withdrawing as far as he can. “Not any better?”

“Too loud,” d’Artagnan mumbles into his arm. His voice is still rough, even after Aramis’ best efforts.

“It’s not good for you.”

“Better than the alternative.”

Aramis can’t argue that one, really, but he knows that what d’Artagnan’s doing isn’t healthy. But he can’t do anything about it from in here. He sighs and settles in to keep watch for the ni - the period of time.

 

The cells are spaced far apart. d’Artagnan tells Aramis that the space outside is a maze of corridors, winding back and forth on themselves, crossing and recrossing, and that the guards bring him on different paths every time. They always end up in the same place, and d’Artagnan has a rough idea where it is, but the turns and crossings and pathways defeat him.

The sound is always clear, but Aramis thinks there are channels built into the walls and ceilings to carry the noise. This is meant to be torture, after all.

It means that his Ability does not react to the other prisoners. He counts it as a blessing; he’d kill himself trying to help them, he knows, and leave d’Artagnan here alone. d’Artagnan, surrounded by prisoners and the implements used to hurt them and the men who enjoy the pain they inflict, suffering every moment for it. At least, he had been, until he’d wrapped his shields tightly around the part of himself where his Ability lives, squeezing and smothering it until Aramis can sense only the tiniest spark no matter how hard he looks. Aramis has never seen him do anything like it before, and it makes him afraid. Abilities like d’Artagnan’s do not like to be constrained, and he doesn’t look forward to the inevitable fallout.

A guard comes around with the food trays. Surprisingly, the food’s quite good - easier to torture them if they’re healthy, Aramis supposes - but there’s only ever one meal a day, and the day Aramis tried to keep some food back for later d’Artagnan paid for it. Nowadays Aramis makes sure d’Artagnan is healthy enough to eat - he never really wants to, but Aramis makes him anyway - and they drink the provided water before the guard returns.

Today d’Artagnan goes an odd colour when he looks at the tray. “Aramis, I really -”

“You won’t be sick this time,” Aramis promises. “Not while you’re eating. And you need it, d’Artagnan, after yesterday…”

“Yes,” d’Artagnan interrupts him. “I know.” He takes a bowl of stew and starts slowly working through it.

Aramis eats his own - he can’t afford to wait for d’Artagnan, when the guard comes back the food goes away whether they’re finished or not - but he keeps one hand on d’Artagnan’s ankle to keep any nausea down, and to comfort him as best he can. d’Artagnan ploughs through the bowl, eats the heel of bread, and sucks a couple of segments of orange. Aramis hurries through his own, watching him carefully.

“I’m all right,” d’Artagnan tells him.

“You’re far from it. Won’t you let me take a day?”

“No. You can’t Heal yourself, and I need - you have to be able to Heal me, or I can’t do it. You know Athos would be volunteering, if he was here.”

“And we’d be shouting him down, he’d have been dead after the first night and all of us along with him.”

d’Artagnan nods briefly. “This makes the most sense. You know that.”

“I can’t do it much longer,” Aramis warns him.

d’Artagnan nods again. There’s no other reaction. Nothing seems to impact him any more.

The guard comes back around for the tray. Aramis settles against the wall. d’Artagnan allows himself to be tugged into his side.

Some length of time passes.

The door opens.

“Who is it today?” the guard asks briskly.

“Me.” d’Artagnan stands.

The guard raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you care at all?” he asks Aramis, seeming genuinely surprised. “No one’s ever let the other go this long before.”

“Someone has to set the records for others to aspire to,” Aramis says lightly. He is holding himself rigid to keep from reacting as another guard fastens manacles far too tightly around d’Artagnan’s wrists.

The guard snorts and turns away, dragging d’Artagnan with him. Aramis sinks back down, pressing both fists against his forehead and waiting for the screams to start.

 

He’s expecting d’Artagnan, when the door opens again. He’s expecting guards and taunting and a chance to heal his friend, to touch him and make sure that he’s there and real and alive. He’s expecting the cycle to start all over again.

He’s not expecting Athos, and it takes a good fifteen seconds for him to realise what’s happening. By then Athos is at his side, scanning him for injuries and talking quickly and quietly.

Aamis shakes his head and Athos stops. “Again?”

Athos looks sad. “Can you walk?”

“I’m unharmed.” Mostly true; he has bruises from being pushed around, but nothing like - “Where is d’Artagnan?”

Athos shakes his head. “We split up.”

“That was foolish,” Aramis mutters. “Where are we?”

“Outside Rouen. An old fort long thought abandoned. Above ground it’s little more than walls and a few flagstones.” Athos is moving while he speaks, leading Aramis out into the corridor, so Aramis doesn't bother asking him to hurry up. “We passed it by four times before we managed to catch one of the men. I’m sorry.”

Aramis shrugs; that doesn’t really matter now. “Who are they?” _Why are we here_ , he doesn’t ask and knows Athos hears anyway.

“They’re no one. I mean, they have no goal. You are not hostages, you are not warnings. They simply enjoy hurting people, and they enjoyed hurting you very much.” Athos’ face is grim. Aramis doesn’t ask what happened to the man they captured.

The corridors are every bit the maze d’Artagnan described. Athos is counting under his breath; Aramis lets him do it, occupying himself with opening every door they pass without explanation. Several are store rooms, and he turns his gaze away from the implements inside. Some are cells; some of the prisoners run in other directions, but most trail after Aramis and Athos, and by the time they reach the torture chamber they’ve acquired a train and Athos has one hand locked around Aramis’ arm to keep him from trying to Heal them.

Porthos is hunkering beside d’Artagnan, talking quietly. There are three extremely dead bodies. Aramis doesn’t look at them.

“Don’t,” Athos says warningly when Aramis moves forward.

“Athos,” Aramis protests.

“Not here. Can you restrain yourself?”

“No,” Aramis admits, teeth gritted. The injuries around are too much for him, grating against his skin, screaming at him.

Athos nods, looking unsurprised. “Porthos?”

“Dunno,” Porthos says doubtfully.

Athos scans the crowd of prisoners and picks a relatively healthy looking man. “Can you help my friends, please?” he asks politely.

They’re in full Musketeer uniform and both are spattered in blood. Three men all but fall over themselves running to help Porthos.

“Just you?” Aramis asks quietly.

“We had only a hint that you were even in this area. Treville could not assign more men without proof, and when we obtained it we were loath to wait for backup.”

Aramis nods quietly. Porthos and another man have d’Artagnan on his feet, sort of. They head out into the tunnels.

Someone knows where they’re going. They reach the outside within a few minutes. Several of the ex-prisoners drop to their knees or burst into tears upon seeing the sky. It’s a beautiful summer afternoon, shading towards evening, sunny with a slight breeze. Aramis stares at it for a long time while things happen around him.

Eventually he realises that they’re alone, the four of them, in a small, pre made campsite. Athos is watching him warily.

“Where did everyone go?” he asks.

“A village,” he gestures to the south. “They’ll be taken care of. The arrangements were made days ago.”

“Days ago,” Aramis echos.

“Nineteen days,” Athos says without waiting for the question. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“d’Artagnan…”

“Is sleeping and stable, and I would like at least the basics before you touch him. I don’t think you’ll be able afterwards.”

Aramis sighs, rubbing his face. “They came on us at night. We had no time to defend ourselves.” And that has spawned a nightmare or two since, but this isn’t the time to worry about that. “We were blindfolded when they took us down there. They left us alone for some time before coming to explain that they planned to hurt one of us and leave the other unharmed, and we could choose. d’Artagnan insisted it be him so that I could heal him in between, and he insisted every time, even after we realised that I couldn’t heal any of the major or visible injuries. They took him away, they hurt him, they brought him back and fed us, and they took him away again.” He shrugs faintly. 

“I see,” Athos murmurs.

“I should have stopped him, but he insisted every time.”

“Of course he did, this is d’Artagnan we’re speaking of.” Athos offers a hand to help Aramis up, guiding him across the campsite to where d’Artagnan is curled on a pallet. Porthos is sitting beside him, carefully washing away some of the dirt and grime.

Aramis smiles wearily at him, sinking down beside d’Artagnan and taking his hand, holding it tightly between both of his.

...someone is touching him. Someone is dragging him away, he’s losing d'Artagnan, _he hasn’t finished Healing him he’s not Healed yet it’s not done…!_

He wakes, trembling. The first thing he does is throw up. Someone - Porthos, he automatically identifies the energy - supports him, helps him sip from a waterskin and lays him back down. He drifts for a while, unsure of what’s going on.

d’Artagnan wakes, and moves, and hurts. Aramis is halfway across the clearing before he registers Athos gripping him around the stomach, hauling him back.

“I didn’t _finish_!”

“I know you didn’t!”

“He’s hurting!”

“He’ll live! You won’t if I let you go, now _calm down_!”

Porthos appears and punches Aramis without hesitation. Aramis sags against Athos, dizzy. He can taste blood in his mouth.

“...well, yes, I suppose that works,” Athos says, half carrying him back to his bedroll. “I’m going to let you go,” he tells Aramis, “and you are going to _stay here._ ”

“He’s hurting,” Aramis says, so soft he can barely hear it himself.

“We can separate you.”

“No,” he says quickly. Bad as this is, he can’t bear to be unable to see d’Artagnan. “No. Don’t do that, please.”

Athos crouches, right next to Aramis, studying him. “You were killing yourself trying to Heal him. He’s not dying, now, and he’s in much less pain; he’s coherent and he slept well. The rest will have to wait until you’re rested and stronger.”

Aramis nods. Porthos knows what it does to him to be ripped away in the middle of a Healing; he would never have risked it if it wasn’t necessary. “I can eat now.”

“You won’t get near him until Porthos and I are both satisfied you’re able,” Athos warns him.

“I understand.”

Athos goes to get him something to eat, but he keeps an eye on him, and Porthos is sitting beside d’Artagnan. It doesn’t really matter. Once he’s eaten, Aramis is asleep almost at once.


	2. Chapter 2

It takes nearly a day of eating and sleeping and resting before the others let Aramis near d’Artagnan, and then only after extracting a promise that he’ll only heal a certain injury and then stop. Aramis agrees, even knowing how hard that will be. They won’t know the difference, after all.

He’s very skilled now at Healing invisible injuries without showing any signs.

d’Artagnan’s resting against someone’s saddle when Aramis sits down next to him. “You look better.”

“Do I?” Aramis asks, vaguely amused.

He nods. “I thought you were dying.” There’s no accusation in it.

Aramis flinches anyway. “What do you want me to take care of?” he asks, stiff and too loud.

“Aramis…”

Aramis grips his arm, sinking his attention in and away from the outside world, looking for the worst injuries to start with. d’Artagnan is in far better shape than he was - Aramis had obviously been working hard before they were separated last time - but there’s still plenty to do. Their captors were very inventive.

He’s regrowing two fingernails when he realises someone is shaking his shoulder. “A moment,” he says thickly.

“Aramis.” That’s Athos, and he sounds angry.

“A moment, I can’t stop in the middle of this.”

He finishes - actually, he possibly overshoots, but d’Artagnan can always trim them back - and lets go, shaking his head as he settles back into his senses. Someone has a water skin, and he drinks deeply.

“How do you feel?” he asks d’Artagnan before looking at the others.

“Much better,” d’Artagnan assures him. “Only bruised, now.”

“You’re still locked down,” Aramis murmurs, brushing two fingers over d’Artagnan’s temple.

“I know,” d’Artagnan agrees. “There’s time.”

“Better here with us than in Paris.”

Something Aramis can’t read flickers in d’Artagnan’s face. “Tomorrow.”

Athos is apparently out of patience; he hauls Aramis to his feet and over to his own bedroll, where he efficiently makes sure Aramis eats and drinks and cleans up without actually speaking to him at all. Aramis curls onto his side, head aching, and lets himself drift.

 

d’Artagnan is scared, and Aramis finds himself standing between him and the other two without any conscious memory of moving.

Athos visibly reins himself in. Porthos sits down where he is, hands spread so that he doesn’t look like a threat. It makes Aramis’ heart ache, but he can’t move from between them until that awful panicked look leaves d’Artagnan’s face.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” d’Artagnan says, tightly. “I’m trying.”

“There is no one for miles around,” Athos says, choosing his words with obvious care, “and you’re familiar with us. You know us. We should not be a shock to you.”

“You are not the problem.”

“Then what is? Perhaps if you explain it to us we can help you with an answer.”

“I don’t know what I _did_. I just needed it all to go away. I couldn’t handle the -” He cuts himself off so sharply Aramis feels the shock as he bites his tongue.

“He turned his shields inwards,” he says, watching Athos. “Instead of keeping everything else out, he forced his Ability in. Pressed it away into a corner of his mind.”

“And now you don’t know how to - let it out?” Athos guesses carefully. Aramis is mildly impressed. Athos always has trouble understanding Mentals.

d’Artagnan nods.

Athos is very still for a moment. “Well, standing around doesn’t seem to be helping,” he says finally. “Let’s start back for Paris. We can always stop again if we need to.” He carefully moves back, away from them, before turning to head for the horses.

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” Porthos offers from the ground. “Mentals’re tough. After my Ma died I kept falling into Fade without meaning to. It got better after a bit.”

“Yeah?” d’Artagnan smiles, a little shaky.

“Yeah.” Porthos heaves himself to his feet, digging into his waist pouch. “Maybe this’ll help,” he offers, holding out d’Artagnan’s rosary.

d’Artagnan takes it from him, smiling gratefully. “Thank you, Porthos.”

“ ‘Course.” He nods at Aramis, going to join Athos.

Aramis relaxes, sighing. He’s going to need to get over that impulse pretty soon, or training will be miserable for all involved. He glances once at d’Artagnan - still there, and not any more injured than he was a minute ago - and goes to make sure his horse is ready.


	3. Chapter 3

They take the trip back to Paris slowly. Athos sends word ahead of them at the first town they pass through and keeps them at a gentle pace. d’Artagnan is healed, and it’s Aramis’ injuries and overall weakness that’s delaying them now.

d’Artagnan is not yet showing any signs of the touch-hunger that usually overcomes him when his Ability is inaccessible. Aramis is keeping an eye on him, and he knows the others are too. He’s been shielding long enough now that he should be struggling, and though Aramis would never wish that on him he thinks it would be more normal.

He thinks part of the problem might be that d’Artagnan is shying away from just about any touch. They’re all being careful to warn him before they touch him and to keep a distance between them at all times. d’Artagnan knows he’s doing it, but he can’t seem to stop, and the frustration is mounting. They can see it in him.

They’ve fallen into their usual routine while setting up camp, mostly. Routine dictates that d’Artagnan gathers wood while Aramis starts cooking, but he’s having trouble focusing when d’Artagnan is out of his sight. When he lets the pot boil over and almost extinguish the fire, Porthos nudges him goodnaturedly out of the way. “I’ll do it. You go help d’Artagnan. S’gonna be cold tonight, the more wood the better.”

Aramis pulls a face at him, because it’s expected, and heads off after d’Artagnan. Athos, busy laying out the bedrolls, watches but makes no effort to stop him. They’ll both be listening out, Aramis knows.

d’Artagnan is engaged in kicking a fallen tree into more manageable chunks. Aramis stays out of his way, gathering the fallen pieces and occasionally ducking an overenthusiastic kick or falling branch. He doesn’t intervene when d’Artagnan bruises his foot. He’s good at ignoring d’Artagnan’s pain now.

When d’Artagnan sinks down onto the trunk, Aramis offers quietly “Do you want me to look at that?”

“It’s fine,” d’Artagnan says shortly, rubbing his shin; the kick must have reverberated up it. Aramis doesn’t comment, just carefully piles some wood near him and ranges out a little to look for more. He stays well within view of d’Artagnan as he works.

“Don’t you think that’s enough?” d’Artagnan asks after a few minutes.

“Porthos thinks it will be cold tonight,” Aramis says absently.

“Porthos grew up in Paris. What does he know about the weather out here?”

Aramis frowns, turning to face him. “He’s been on plenty of missions out of the city.”

“He wanted to give you an excuse to come and watch me.”

Aramis considers his answer carefully. “If he did, it was about me, not you. No one doubts your capabilities.”

“You do.”

“That is also about me, not about you.”

d’Artagnan snorts. “It feels like it’s about me.”

Aramis shakes his head. “No. I know you can protect yourself perfectly well. It’s my fear of failing you, d’Artagnan, not my fear that you will fail. But if it’s bothering you, I’ll stop.” He gathers an armload of wood and turns away.

“Right. Saint Aramis, can’t possibly do anything to upset his friends.”

He sighs, puts his wood back down and goes back to face d’Artagnan. “How would you like me to respond? Am I supposed to be hurt or angry? Fight back or defend? What will work better for you?” d’Artagnan blinks, seeming surprised. “I’m sorry you are hurting. I’m sorry I have upset you. I will try not to intrude on you again. Is that enough? Shall I flagellate myself as well?” d’Artagnan flushes, looking away. “I’m going back to camp,” Aramis says quietly. “Once I turn around, I will forget this last discussion. I will not hover over you again. I can’t do anything about Athos, though.” He watches d’Artagnan for a moment longer before turning away, gathering up his wood and going back to camp.

Athos glances up at his arrival, watching him just as carefully as he did on the way out. Aramis deposits the wood near the fire, deflects Porthos’ questions and goes to his bedroll, curling up with his back to the fire. Athos and Porthos chat for a while behind him; d’Artagnan returns, joins in a little and then falls silent, presumably lying on his own roll, around the fire from Aramis’.

Aramis ‘sleeps’ through dinner, and no one tries to make him eat. Porthos gets first watch and Athos comes to settle beside Aramis.

Aramis resists the impulse for almost ten minutes before he rolls over to bury his face in Athos’ shoulder. Athos doesn’t seem surprised, just shifts a little to make it easier for him and rests a hand on the back of his head. Aramis shakes, weeping softly, crying for the first time since their capture. Athos holds on.

 

d’Artagnan looks oddly curious as they ride into Paris. Aramis supposes it’s strange for him to see the great city without also feeling it. He’s certainly been reveling in not wearing his gloves.

Treville is standing on the balcony when they ride in. Aramis can almost feel his gaze travel over each of them, looking for injuries. He won’t find any, of course. All the remaining wounds are on the inside.

He trails after the others upstairs to Treville’s office, where Athos and Porthos handle most of the questions. Aramis gives the bare bones of what happened during the days they spent underground. Treville doesn’t push for details. Aramis wonders how much of it he Saw while they were gone.

d’Artagnan doesn’t speak.

At the end of the report he sighs, leaning back in his seat. “When do you anticipate being ready for work?”

Aramis is about to say that he’s ready now when d’Artagnan says “I’m ready now.”

“You are not,” Athos says evenly. “Captain, d’Artagnan’s Ability has been - upset. He is not quite back in control of it.”

“ _Athos!_ ” d’Artagnan hisses, looking betrayed.

“Is this true?” Treville asks d’Artagnan directly.

“It doesn’t affect -”

“It does affect,” Treville interrupts him. “Mandatory leave until you can tell me truthfully that your Ability is back under control. What about you, Aramis?”

Aramis blinks, tearing his attention away from the furious d’Artagnan. “I’m a little on edge. Nothing that will impede me or make it difficult to perform my duties.”

“Light duties, then, until I’m satisfied you -”

“You believe him and not me?” d’Artagnan protests.

“You’re not doing much to change my mind,” Treville says coldly. “Get him out of here, Athos, before I change it to a suspension.”

Athos bundles him towards the door, shushing him every time he tries to object. Porthos trails them, face grim.

Aramis starts to follow and then looks back at Treville. “He’s hurting,” he says helplessly.

“Yes.”

That’s all; not condemnation, not exoneration. Aramis goes while the going is good.

Athos is sitting at their table in the yard, mindlessly turning an apple over and over in his hands. Aramis sits opposite him, raising an eyebrow in a wordless question.

“Porthos is with him.”

Not the right answer. Aramis looks even more pointed.

“He tried to strike me,” Athos admits reluctantly.

“He has no guide,” Aramis says quietly. “He cannot gauge our feelings. He doesn’t know how read a body, or a face, when he cannot also read the feelings.”

“Perhaps that is something to work on while we wait for him to heal,” Athos murmurs.

“If he ever does.”


	4. Chapter 4

‘Light duties’ in the garrison mostly translates to checking and cleaning weapons, or occasionally helping Serge. Aramis does whatever he’s given without complaint.

d’Artagnan has locked himself in his room. It’s mostly a symbolic gesture, as all three of the others have keys anyway and Treville probably has one as well, but the others respect it as best they can. Porthos offers to fetch Flora from the Court to talk to him; d’Artagnan promises that if Porthos tries, he’ll leave the garrison until she does. He doesn’t want to talk to her. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone.

Athos puts up with it for three days and then goes upstairs and warns d’Artagnan that if he is not downstairs in ten minutes, ready for training, he’ll break his door down. d’Artagnan shows up fourteen minutes later, puts in the absolute minimum amount of effort, and goes back upstairs when it’s finished.

Porthos offers to take him out and teach him how to cheat. d’Artagnan doesn’t even answer that one.

Aramis has been staying away from him. He keeps staying away from him. Well - if he sometimes gets up at night, when he can’t sleep, and sits outside d’Artagnan’s door for a while - no one knows about it, so it doesn’t count.

Treville is clearly getting impatient. On the fifth day he calls Athos to his office. Aramis and Porthos, down in the yard, can hear the tone clearly. They’re glad to be this far away.

“Gonna have to do something,” Porthos observes.

“Yes, but what?”

Athos comes out of the office, collects them with a look and heads for d’Artagnan’s door. He doesn’t bother with the niceties this time; he just orders Porthos to break it down. Porthos eyes him in surprise but obliges. The garrison’s built strong, but every Musketeer knows the weak spots. It takes two blows for the door to crack.

d’Artagnan doesn’t look up. He’s huddled on the floor under the window, face buried in his knees.

Aramis pushes between the other two and moves to crouch beside him. “d’Artagnan?”

“I can’t get it back,” he whispers.

Aramis reaches for his hand and turns it over carefully. d’Artagnan’s gripping his rosary so tightly it’s imprinted into the flesh. Aramis carefully pulls it loose, trying not to wince at the marks left behind.

“It’s all gone,” d’Artagnan says dully. “How do you live in a world this empty?”

“Your Ability may yet return.”

“I look at you and I feel _nothing_. I touch that and there’s _nothing_. How can - _Aramis_ -“

Aramis moves on instinct. This is not the kind of injury he can Heal, but he still knows what to do. He gathers d’Artagnan into his arms and holds on.

 

The others wait while d’Artagnan cries himself out. By the time he’s recovered himself there’s a wineskin and a bowl of water waiting. He washes his face and takes a couple of sips of wine.

“Was that really necessary?” he asks, gesturing to the door. “You have keys.”

“Making a point,” Athos says briskly.

“And what was the point?”

He falters for a moment. “That - you may not wallow any longer. Treville was clear. Either you return to training -”

“I’m leaving,” d’Artagnan says over him.

“What?” Porthos says sharply.

“d’Artagnan -” Aramis starts.

“Only those with Abilities may serve in the Musketeers,” d’Artagnan reminds them.

“You have an Ability!”

“No.”

“d’Artagnan…”

“It’s broken, Aramis. _I’m_ broken. There’s no point in my waiting for it to return. It might never heal. Treville will have to expel me eventually.”

“Treville would find you another position,” Athos says.

“I don’t want another position. After serving here with you, do you think I’d be happy in another regiment? I’m going to resign my commission, and I’m going back to Gascony.”

“To a burned out farm and a village you never belonged in?”

“Better the place I never belonged in than the place I don’t belong in any more. The decision’s made. I’ve just been afraid to do it. But you decided that for me.” He stands, stepping carefully over Aramis’ outstretched legs.

“D’you want us to go with you, lad?” Porthos asks quietly.

“I can face the captain alone, thank you.”

“Not what I meant.”

d’Artagnan smiles faintly. “No. Thank you.” He leaves the room.

“Are we letting this happen?” Porthos demands intently.

“We don’t have a choice,” Aramis says quietly.

“He’s just blocked! I couldn’t Fade properly for months after my mother died!”

“You weren’t part of a group depending on your Fade,” Athos points out. “Aramis is right. d’Artagnan has made his choice and all we can do is support him. Let’s get his things moved to another room. He might as well be comfortable until he goes.”


	5. Chapter 5

d’Artagnan joins them at the table in the yard a little later. “Treville has accepted my resignation, but I’m required to go to the palace while he speaks to the king,” he says quietly. “Technically the king is supposed to approve resignations.”

Athos is nodding. “Yes. It’s rare. I think only three Musketeers?”

“We’re a young regiment,” Aramis murmurs. “We haven’t much history of anything.”

“When is he doing that?” Athos asks.

“Tomorrow. I asked him to do it as quickly as possible. Now that it’s done…” He shrugs. “I want it done with.”

“I honestly believe you will overcome this block,” Aramis says quietly.

“Then it will happen in Gascony. I’m sorry, but you will not change my mind on this.”

“We aren’t trying to, lad,” Porthos says. “Only to make sure it’s truly what you want.”

“It’s -” d’Artagnan catches himself, looking away. “It is,” he says after a moment.

“We’ll go to the palace with you,” Athos says, and raises a hand when d’Artagnan starts to protest. “It’s not up for debate. If it will be our last act as fellow Musketeers, we will do it.”

“And then we’ll see you off as brothers,” Porthos agrees.

d’Artagnan mumbles something and all but flees for his room.

Aramis sighs, pushing to his feet. “I’ll be back shortly.”

“Where are you going?” Porthos demands.

“I’m going to inform Constance. This is not something she should hear for the first time in Court, she’d do something unpolitic like have a visible reaction. I’ll be back in a while.”

Telling Constance is draining and awful, especially since he can’t give her the real reason d’Artagnan’s leaving. He ends up having to allude to a lingering injury obtained in captivity, and he hates lying to her even by omission. 

He drags himself back to the garrison, sleeps like the dead until Porthos wakes him, and heads back to the palace with the others. Louis knows they’re there, and why they’re there, but he still keeps them waiting while he goes through every other piece of business first. Rochefort is glaring at them the whole time. Constance is watching sadly from Anne’s side.

Finally Louis runs out of other business and calls Treville forward. d’Artagnan goes with him; the others wait a few paces back.

d’Artagnan bows stiffly. “Your majesty, I wish to resign my commission in your Musketeers.”

“Oh dear,” Rochefort comments, “service to the crown not for you, d’Artagnan?”

“Your majesty will remember that d’Artagnan and Aramis were recently captured near Rouen while on royal business,” Treville says evenly. “d’Artagnan sustained injuries during that time which make it difficult for him to participate fully in regiment business.”

“He seems uninjured,” Rochefort says. “And how fortunate that Aramis was not likewise injured.”

“I have d’Artagnan to thank for that,” Aramis says, and holds Rochefort’s gaze until he looks away with a huff.

“It’s possible that my injuries will heal in time,” d’Artagnan says, “and I would hope to return then. But at this time, I cannot serve you as you need, your majesty.”

“It’s a brave man who knows his limitations,” Anne comments.

“Yes,” Louis agrees neutrally.

“The regiments are not for dropping in and out of as the mood takes you,” Rochefort snaps. “Do you think you are so skilled that the Musketeers will fall apart without you?”

“I have every confidence that the Musketeers will continue just as well as they always have, with or without me,” d’Artagnan says evenly.

“Then why -”

“Rochefort, do be silent a moment, there’s a good chap,” Louis says absently. “d’Artagnan, you are Gascon, yes?”

“Yes, your majesty,” d’Artagnan says warily.

“I believe Gascony is currently without an Intendant?”

“I don’t believe the Cardinal had time to appoint a new one after LaBarge, no, your majesty.”

“Well, then!” Louis claps his hands together, grinning broadly. “Problem solved. d’Artagnan, I appoint you the new Intendant of Gascony.”

“Your majesty, I don’t -”

“Your majesty, he can’t -”

d’Artagnan and Rochefort speak over each other. Athos is frozen. Treville is shaking his head slowly, resignedly. Porthos is grinning.

Aramis has no idea what’s happening.

d’Artagnan wins the tussle for dominance and starts over. “Your majesty, I’ve no experience in any such role. I would have no idea how to fill the office. I’m honoured, but -”

“Oh, tosh, such things can be learned. You already know the area, you know the people, and you know my laws. I believe that’s where LaBarge went wrong. He didn’t understand the local politics and allowed himself to become overzealous. That will not be a problem for you.”

“Your majesty -”

“The job comes with an estate. I understand that your farm was one of the ones damaged by LaBarge.”

“Yes, but -”

“Excellent! See my steward, he will find someone to instruct you in your new role. You’re dismissed, Intendant d’Artagnan.”

d’Artagnan turns. He looks completely dazed. Aramis risks breaking ranks to catch his elbow; d’Artagnan totters after him. The others close ranks and hurry him out of the room before Rochefort can catch him.

They’re half way back to the garrison before d’Artagnan comes back to life.

_“What the hell just happened?”_

 

d’Artagnan bursts out laughing when he sees his horse.

Aramis eyes it, taking a moment to enjoy the sound of d’Artagnan’s laughter. “We were rather over zealous, weren’t we.”

“If I try and ride him like that, he’ll collapse before I’m out of the city.”

“We wanted to make sure you had everything you need.”

“I’m going to an estate. I have servants and an allowance and rents.” He stares at nothing for a moment. “I have servants,” he says reflectively.

“We can still come,” Aramis murmurs.

“No. If I ride into Gascony with three Musketeers behind me, I’ll never be able to do anything without you. Later. When I’m settled. There’ll be messages, missions, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure,” Aramis agrees. “If you need us -”

“I know.”

Aramis catches his arm to make him look at him. “You are not broken, d’Artagnan,” he says firmly. “One part of you is hurt. That does not reflect on the whole of you.”

d’Artagnan doesn’t, quite, meet his eyes. “Yes. Come on, the others are getting impatient.”

Aramis follows him down to the others, helping him unload some of the unnecessary parcels and packages. d’Artagnan is careful to thank the others even as he refuses their gifts. Athos is giving him last minute pieces of advice about interacting with his new subjects. Porthos is giving him contradictory advice. Treville is standing by, listening with a fond smile on his face.

Eventually d’Artagnan gets the horse’s load down to a manageable weight and mounts up. Treville turns, whistling sharply. d’Artagnan looks up in surprise.

From every doorway and archway and corner, Musketeers appear in full uniform. They form up, two lines starting a few feet in front of d’Artagnan, spilling out into the street outside the garrison. d’Artagnan stares, lips pressed firmly together.

At Treville’s signal the men draw themselves sharply up, drawing swords to form an arch. Porthos catches d’Artagnan’s bridle, starting him forward. Athos is on his other side. Aramis trails behind with Treville, and as they pass through the arch the men they’ve passed fall out of line to crowd in behind them.

The horse passes out of the arch. Every man clashes his sword against his neighbour's.

_“One for all and all for one! One for all and all for one! One for all and all for one!”_

Porthos lets go. He and Athos step aside.

d’Artagnan rides away, back straight and tall.

Aramis stays where he is as the other men melt away. Porthos claps him on the arm as he passes, but they don’t try to call him in. He watches until d’Artagnan is long gone, swallowed up by the crowds on the street.

He turns to head in. Quietly he wonders how long it will be before d’Artagnan finds the pauldron hidden in the depths of a saddle bag.

He smiles as he goes to join his brothers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're at the end of part 1 of this trilogy. There will be a week's break before we start the next part. Enjoy!


End file.
